


are you going to leave a path to trace

by maker_of_my_sorrow



Category: Iliad - Fandom, homeric scholar brand shipper trash
Genre: M/M, also undoubtedly historical inaccuracies despite my frustrated research, featuring exaggeratedly poetic smut, historians wyd, idk man like ANGST, no one has ANSWERS, of fucking course
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 09:57:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8323483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maker_of_my_sorrow/pseuds/maker_of_my_sorrow
Summary: this is the product of a serious procrastination issue and i regret only somewhat the time and effort spent on it
also im gonna take this opportunity to call out my friend Cass who read it but never said anything further than, i quote: "OH MAN I LIKE THAT" which is a positive reaction but which does not give any concrete feedback. ily tho





	1. strange fear i haven't felt for years

**Author's Note:**

> title of overall work taken from the song Oblivion by Bastille  
> title of chapter one taken from Overload by Bastille  
> (im bad at titles and bastille is so fucking perfect for this) 
> 
> i use way too many commas and conjunctions but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> also spot the blatant inaccuracy which i really wanted to keep anyways 
> 
> oh! also, weird POV's. just in case you get confused.  
> chapter one is idk it's 2nd person referring to Patroclus? as if he's being addressed by an omniscient narrator (which does happen in Homer so it's legit right?)

the offer – nay the plea – was made far from lightly, not remotely akin to battlefield nor bedroom banter, and yet perhaps the words should have been endowed with more gravity. perhaps the syllables should have fallen as blood from your lips, Patroclus, and as blood sped down into the dust. 

you perceived him wholly, as he did you, each surveying the other less with appraisal (or lust, as the case often was) than with anxiety, two pairs of eyes flitting, now meeting each other, now scanning a limb, a wound, a familiar scar. 

“let me wear your armour. let me go out and fight.” 

such were the blood-laden words you uttered, Patroclus, a tactical suggestion that between any others would have had the potential to be devoid of emotion. you and Achilleus stood in breathless proximity; his reluctance was as bronze cold and yet untouched by battle-blood. it weakened, perhaps because of the desperation glistening in your eyes, or the catalog of wounded men, or his own pride or the fact that he was yours as much as you were his. 

he reached up and caressed your cheekbone with impossible gentleness; you leaned imperceptibly towards the touch and then you allowed yourself to move closer to him, now his calloused fingers cupped your jaw, and your gaze was directed at his shoulder but you knew that he bore a similar expression to yours, bitter pain legible in narrowed eyes and parted lips and tense tilted head. your hand slid to the back of his neck, you gripped almost forcefully at the corded sinews beneath the skin, you leaned in further and your lips ghosted over the thick white jagged scar that adorned copper stubble and beaten skin. the hitch in his breath was audible; his mouth chased yours but you felt unable to allow yourself to taste him; an unidentified premonition clenched your throat. when you returned in triumph then would each be completely at the other’s mercy, once the blood was washed away, or perhaps before that, perhaps his lips would be upon yours the moment you lifted the war helm. until then however a different passion would ignite your veins and you would fight. 

slowly you drew away, and the final brush of his fingers was accompanied by the utterance “come back to me.” a moment of eye contact in which you were closer than ever before, and then the meticulous donning of the heavy armour, and battle awaited.


	2. i'm no good at lip service except when they're yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here is the exaggeratedly poetic smut. i tried 
> 
> also, im sorry it is so short. the next chapter should come along soon.
> 
> oh! important information: chapters are not in chronological order! they're just sort of different memories i guess.
> 
> and POV, well, im sure you can tell who is narrating here. but im sorry for using 1st person, i hope it isn't too bad style-wise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title of chapter two taken from the song Irresistible by Fall Out Boy

oh and joined like this we could have been gods, we could have been titans, so great was the strength in our coursing veins and sweat-slicked bodies; and there was far more love in our union than any god or titan ever bore. love burned fiercely and with it lust ignited and the two became enmeshed and interchangeable, and we did not want so much as need each other, even as the need for air in our lungs – more direly, because I never gave a thought to breathing when my mouth was on your mouth and on your skin and on you and around you. all the gods were meaningless: I could have worshipped the arching of your spine, I could have invoked power unmeasurable with the sound of your moans. your fingers dug bruises into my hips that would ache more than any wound; the bite marks I left on your neck, your thighs, anywhere I pleased, were more defining than any scar. Your hair was splayed out beneath you as you gazed up at me astride you, it fell over us when you bent over me and pinned me down; it was the colour of rusted blades and smouldering coals and freshly dried blood and a clear dawn over a wide plain. (I had attempted to braid it once, when we were mildly intoxicated, we had burst into laughter when I accomplished nothing but to hopelessly tangle the long strands, and I had given up and pressed repeated kisses to the top of your head while murmuring nonsensical praise) … The praises I would utter at these times were breathless and desperate and lauded much more than your fiery tresses; I would implore you and curse you and inarticulately gasp your name. on one such occasion I twined my fingers in those tresses, and a sharp tug evoked a hiss of pleasure, and an increase in force and rapidity; that was the time release came surging with impossible violence over both of us, deafening, blinding, obliterating all but the overwhelming sensation. you claimed that my cry had undoubtedly woken the whole encampment, which I countered by saying that if that was true, they must have heard my name ringing out, in a voice distorted by sheer pleasure but unmistakeably your own. good, you growled in reply, let the universe know that you are mine, and I was shivering as you kissed me hard.


End file.
